


A Five Minute Divergence

by misura



Category: In Time (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Community: smallfandomfest, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:38:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3070226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Henry Hamilton changes the future at the cost of five minutes. (AU-canon divergence)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Five Minute Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Will/Sylvia/Raymond, AU where everybody lives_ (madame_oryx)

Within ten seconds of talking to the man, it is abundantly clear to Raymond that Henry Hamilton is stark, raving crazy - which would be his problem only if Hamilton would have been inclined to express his lunacy by threatening harm to others, instead of merely to himself.

"I get the impression you might be mad. You may wish to get some professional help for that."

There are hospitals, in this time zone. The rich can afford to spend a few years to ease the discomfort of a twisted ankle or an upset stomach. A broken arm is not a death sentence here.

When Raymond gets injured, he can get patched up at a free clinic in time zone seven - if he's lucky.

"Already did." Hamilton holds up a hip flask, grinning.

Raymond manages not to sigh. "So what, exactly, is it you want us to do, Mr Hamilton?"

Hamilton raises his flake to his lips and gulps down some of its contents. Raymond indulges himself by fantasizing he'll take Hamilton in for drunk and disorderly behavior. As if a two-week fine'd mean anything to a guy like Hamilton.

"A favor. I'll pay you. Five minutes of your time."

In Raymond's experience five-minute favors often cost a lot more than that - and they usually pay less.

"C'mon," Hamilton says. "Where's the harm?"

Raymond doesn't have a single curious bone in his body. Leila tells him he's boring. She's probably right. Then again, she also tells her she could fix that in ten minutes, and Raymond's pretty sure she's wrong about that.

"What's the favor?" He'll refuse, of course. He always does.

"I told you," Hamilton says. "Just let me give you five minutes."

It is, without a doubt, the smallest bribe ever offered to Raymond - and he's had a lot of offers over the course of the past fifty years of his career. People are stupid.

"You didn't - " Raymond says, and then he gets it. "The _favor_ is that I let you give me five minutes? Why? What am I going to do with five more minutes? Get a coffee?"

"Places where I have lunch, people pay at least two days for a decent cup."

Raymond says nothing. He tells himself it's fair; all time is relative. Measurable and absolute, but still relative. Two days doesn't mean the same to someone from New Greenwich as it does to someone from Vesper.

"Five minutes," Hamilton says, holding out his arm. "Trust me, you'll thank me one day."

 

In hindsight, Raymond thinks he should just have arrested Hamilton then and there, save himself a whole lot of trouble. It'd have been a bit tricky to slap a charge on him - hard to make stick a 'conspiracy to commit murder' when Hamilton works alone and the guy he's planning to kill is himself.

Still.

Raymond figures he might have tried for 'belonging to some kind of whacky cabal to break down the system and also incidentally ruin my life'.

 

 _Don't you ever picture what life might be like if you never had to die?_ Leila asked him, one evening, five hours on her clock and not a customer in sight.

 _No,_ he told her. _Why would I waste my time on something like that?_

_You should get a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend._

_I have a job._

_Ten minutes in heaven for one lousy hour of your time,_ she said. _I'll give you a discount, because I like you._

 

He doesn't regret not having taken her up on that offer. He's had girlfriends and boyfriends both, from the day he turned fifteen to the day he turned twenty-five, at which point he decided they weren't worth the time.

Some of his colleagues still date - a few are even married.

Raymond understands the appeal, on some level. The desire to not die alone. It's always struck him as rather selfish and a bit foolish, too, given that the odds of being the one being died on are generally fifty-fifty.

"You think they're in love?" Jaeger asks, because he's an idiot.

Raymond looks on for the dozenth time as Will Salas and Sylvia Weis go and help themselves to a lot of time. The reward is minimal, compared to what they've stolen already.

When cornered, they'll probably be able to afford offering at least twice that.

"Ten years," Krieg says. He and his wife are expecting again. Ten years can buy a lot of diapers, toys and clothes.

Of course, Timekeepers are automatically excluded from any rewards. It's already their job to catch criminals, after all; why should they get paid even a second extra?

"They're in love," Raymond says, watching a breeze pick up Sylvia Weis's hair. Watching it fall back into place with all the perfection time can buy. "It doesn't make any difference. We'll catch them."

 

And so he does.

In the borderland, between zone twelve and eleven, he points a gun at Billy Salas's son and Philippe Weis's daughter, and tells himself he doesn't feel old.

He looks at his arm and sees he's got five minutes and nine seconds left to live.

 

"I can spare you both a minute," he tells Will, who looks, thinks and talks too much like his father, and Sylvia, who does not. "We'll have to run, but if we all keep our heads, nobody needs to die."

Dispatch will give him time, if he asks for it. Doesn't matter the car's not his; doesn't matter the car's original driver may have filed a complaint against him by now.

"We do," Will says. "You know they're not going to let us live."

 _I know they're coming for me,_ his father told Raymond, a quarter of a century ago. _But I've got no regrets. I did what was right - and if that's a crime, you can arrest me right here, right now._

"Do you want to talk, or do you want to live?" Raymond asks.

"I want both," Will says, and then he grins, and in that moment, there's a lot more of Henry Hamilton in him than of his father. "I want everything I can get."

"You can get a minute," Raymond tells him. Sylvia's already holding out her hand; between the two of them, clearly, she's the smart one.

 

Will's father died in a small room, surrounded by people who were too scared of his killer to save him.

"For what it's worth, I'll make sure you get a fair trial," Raymond says.

The car's caught in a crowd; the aftereffects of one million years hitting the streets. It's to prevent these kinds of scenes that Raymond's become a Timekeeper.

Crowds are dangerous entities. Easy to turn violent. People get hurt in them, or by them.

"You and what army?" Will asks. "Because mine's right outside, and I don't think it's a trial they want."

The car's windows are dark; it's unlikely anyone's noticed yet who's inside. On the other hand, it's clearly a 'cop car'. Crowds don't like cops, usually. Especially not crowds in this zone.

"I could scream," Sylvia says. "That should draw some attention."

"They're not yours," Raymond tells Will. "Most of them would kill you for a couple of days."

"I'm willing to take that chance," Will says. "You?"

"Yeah," Sylvia says, before Raymond can say 'no'. He's still got the gun; in theory, he could draw it. Point it at either of them, tell them to be quiet.

Bit difficult to do that _and_ keep driving the car, of course. Besides, he's never shot a man or woman in cold blood. That's not what Timekeepers do. Timekeepers keep time; they don't take it.

"Join us," Will says. "You can't stop us, anyway."

"If I can't beat you, I should join you?" Raymond feels more amused than insulted. "Sorry, but that's not how I tick. I keep time - it's a job I've been doing for over fifty years now. If you think I'm going to throw all of that away for some stupid, idealistic revolt that will end up changing nothing at all, you're a fool."

"You spent fifty years doing what you felt was right," Will says. "You want to stop doing that now?"

 

"Wow," Sylvia says. She's down to her bra, her panties and one sock. "You're good at this."

"Too good, if you ask me." Will scowls. He's down to - well, nothing. It's a nice view, Raymond thinks.

"You live for seventy-five years, you pick up a few things." Raymond grins and starts shuffling the cards again. "Another round? I'm sure we can think of something for Will to do if he loses again."

"Deal me in."

"Will?"

"Fine. But if I win, I get my socks back."


End file.
